


Taking the Fee

by bobross



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bodily Fluids, Fetishization, M/M, Medical Kink, Pelvic Exam, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-17
Updated: 2012-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bobross/pseuds/bobross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Once a year, John envies omega and beta women their easy-access plumbing.</i>
</p><p><i>No, really.  </i>Fuck<i> whatever evolutionary mechanism decided to forego an external aperture for the male vagina.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking the Fee

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, John wouldn't be seeing a gynaecologist (from Gk. _gynaik-_ , "woman"). For the purposes of this AU, I'm going to assume that the field of tocology (Gk. _tokos_ , "childbirth") covers everyone with a viable uterus and ovaries. I'm also replacing andrology (Gk. _andros_ , "man") with speirology (Gk. _speiro_ , "to sow seed, to beget offspring").
> 
> ...Does the etymology reflect some pretty messed-up views on gender roles in this alternate universe? Why, yes. Yes, it does!
> 
> Also, I'm not a doctor, but I tried to research thoroughly. Please point out any glaring errors.
> 
>  **Additional Note:** This story's scenario is meant to be consensual roleplay between partners, but there are no overt indicators aside from one tiny hint near the end. Several people have commented that it reads like hardcore dub-con; please read with caution!

\-----------------------------------------------------------

 _"Nature performs the cure, the physician takes the fee."_ ~Benjamin Franklin

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Once a year, John envies omega and beta women their easy-access plumbing.

No, really. _Fuck_ whatever evolutionary mechanism decided to forego an external aperture for the male vagina.

The problem is this: for two systems of viscera dependent on a single outlet, John's excretory and reproductive organs are remarkably separate. His bowel performs its normal day-to-day functions, undisturbed by the uterus tucked over his bladder. The only point of intersection is the vaginal breach on the anterior wall of his rectum. Between heat cycles, it's typically sealed off with a thick plug of impenetrable mucus. There's no communication of waste, no reason for the vagina to be accessible during anoestrus—and no way to conduct a cervical examination.

Which is what brings John to the clinic promptly at eight AM, a good three hours after his heat uncoiled like a live wire at the base of his spine. The vaginal plug will have slipped free during the latter phase of pre-oestrus evacuation; he's wet and open, his body more than ready for intrusion. There's no better time to conduct the yearly exam, objectively speaking. (He's looked into off-season uncorking in the past, but the process is much more invasive, not to mention horribly pricey.)

Christ. His _heat_. John grimaces and hugs his arms, embarrassment prickling up his neck. He got a lot of offended stares and some few muttered comments on his way in. It's indecent to be out in public like this on purpose. A specially-designed absorbent brief kept the seat of his trousers dry, and a long jacket hid the small, half-swollen prominence at his groin, but every head turned as he passed. He's shedding pheromones like a dandelion seeding the wind. It's worse than parading about stark naked.

Maybe it would be easier for him if he weren't a doctor himself, and therefore acutely aware of the possible repercussions of skipping the exam. He knows the common warning signs for illness, of course, but he's heard plenty of horror stories. Asymptomatic infections destroying delicate tissue beyond repair. Cancer running rampant, caught only when it jumped into the blood or started eating other organs. Foul discharges, painful intercourse, emergency hysterectomies yielding blackened, gangrenous uteri—if even half the stories are true, it's enough to frighten any sane omega into the stirrups.

Then again, John thinks miserably, ignorance might just be the ticket in this case. Ignorance would have him at home in his bed, not hunched half-naked on an exam table. He's already changed into the thin patient gown, keeping his brief on for the moment. No sense in spreading the mess before he has to.

He tries to distract himself by reading and re-reading the various informational posters on the walls, one hand idly fiddling with the stirrups. They're sturdy, bright and seemingly new, with ergonomic boot-pads in a soothing shade of blue. A complimentary set of foam cushions are stacked neatly on the worktop, alongside the requisite gloves, artificial lubricant, tissues, cottons swabs, and other items. Standard diagnostic equipment clings to the nearest wall. The ultrasound console sits quietly on its cart, and a gooseneck exam light stands in the far corner. 

On the whole, it's a neat, sterile enclosure. John might not be in the stirrups yet, but he feels incredibly exposed all the same. Luckily, his tocologist is an aging beta with an easy sense of humor and just the right mix of professionalism and casual profanity. "Good goddamn, lad," he's apt to drawl, paying no heed as John's body twitches with helpless arousal and frustration, "I'm gonna need a mop if you keep that up." To which John can only ever laugh. He's a gusher, all right.

Speaking of gushing, his brief is apparently maxed-out on absorbency; John can feel the slick beginning to pool between the sodden material and his skin. It should be disgusting. It's _delicious_. John fists his hand against the top of his thigh and tries not to rut in place. The minute he gets home, he promises himself, he's going to mount his favorite dildo on a kitchen chair and ride it until his legs give out.

An abrupt knock startles him, as does the unfamiliar figure when the door swings open. A fitted surgical mask hides most of the man's face, and the hair is likewise tucked under a cap, but John doesn't recognize the shape of him. Dr. Guthrie is several inches shorter and quite a bit wider in the belt. "Good morning," the stranger says pleasantly, closing the door behind him. "Dr. Guthrie was called away on an emergency. I'm Dr. Siger, I'll be taking over for him today."

John blinks through a spike of anxiety. Oestrus always leaves him a tad high-strung. "Oh," he says, forcing his tone level. "Morning, sorry. I'm a little out of it right now."

"Don't trouble yourself, it's perfectly normal," Siger reassures him. He glances over the chart in his hands. "I see you're a doctor, John. Do you mind if I call you John? Have you taken any medication this morning?"

"John's fine, and no, I haven't. I'll be all right without." Many omegas down mild sedatives before their checkups. John would rather be crisply alert, even if he's more uncomfortable for it. "I hope Dr. Guthrie's all right?"

Siger rolls a stool out from beneath the worktop and settles himself, sliding a pen from the front pocket of his lab coat. "As far as I know, yes. Patient emergency, not personal." His eyes are very light, the exact hue washed out by the fluorescents, but he's surprisingly expressive above the contoured mask. "How are you feeling, John, aside from the obvious? Any unusual discomfort or pain?"

John's mouth twitches wryly. "Nothing unusual, no." _Discomfort_ doesn't begin to describe the ache of unfulfilled heat, anyway. The little creases at the corners of Siger's eyes indicate he sees the humor, too. "I can answer the rest for you, if it'll speed things up? This is my third heat this year, regular as clockwork. Yes, I am taking contraceptives, same brand. It's been three weeks since my last sexual encounter—beta male, clean, used a condom—but I'm not planning to meet anyone for this round. No new allergies, meds, or bowel irregularities. And no, I don't need a chaperone for the exam."

Siger dutifully notes down each answer as it's given, and at the end, he gives a soft hum of amusement. "Definitely a doctor. All right, I think that covers the Q&A." He sets the chart on the worktop behind him and stands, pulling a thin plastic-wrapped package from an overhead cupboard and handing it over. "There's your drape. I'm going to fetch the endospec while you get yourself situated. I'll knock before I come back in, all right?"

John _mm_ s his acknowledgement, and in seconds, he's alone. He's not exactly thrilled with the last-minute substitution, but at least Dr. Siger seems on board with John's bid to get this over with. John levers himself off the exam table and shimmies carefully out of his brief, tossing the garment in the covered biohazard bin. A few soggy tissues follow, though it's beyond pointless to try to clean himself up; no sooner has he mopped his thighs than new warmth begins seeping southward.

With a sigh, he gingerly settles at the foot of the exam table and unfolds the drape over his lap, trying not to tease himself in the process. His cock is fully erect now; it's small, as is typical for an omega, but there's no way to hide the state of it under the flimsy gown and drape. John gazes down at his stiff little lump, useless beggar that it is. A pulse of hopeful pleasure coils behind his balls. Before he quite knows what he's doing, his palm moves to his groin. His breath escapes on a soft, mortifying moan, hips twitching forward into the pressure.

If the earlier knock was startling, this one nearly makes him jump out of his skin. John yanks his hand from his lap, ears burning. Dr. Siger must have heard him, and it's not as though he can pretend he was groaning in pain. Fuck. He licks his lips and calls out, "Come in."

Siger rolls the endospec in ahead of him and shuts the door once more. "Oh, good, I was afraid you'd be one of those patients who tries to fix the stirrups themselves," he remarks cheerfully. "Never mind policy, it always ends in awkwardness, you know?" If he heard John's loss of control, he gives no sign. "Let me get this and the ultrasound plugged in and powered up, and then I'll help you get comfortable."

"Unless you're serving tea with tranquilizers, I don't see that happening." It's perfectly true, but John can't help a crooked smile. "To be honest, the only reason I don't try to do up the stirrups myself is that I'd never get the bum padding perfect afterward. Dr. Guthrie's a genius with that, but he won't tell me his secret."

Siger chuckles behind his mask, a deep, furry sort of sound. "He's had a lot of practice. Don't worry, I'll see if I can't replicate his magic."

With the doctor's help, John is smoothly transitioned into the exam position: flat on his back, both feet comfortably cradled in the stirrup-pads and his arse pushed down to the lip of the table, leaving his legs up and spread wide apart. Siger gently slides one of the foam cushions under his rear for that extra bit of tilt and tucks a small pillow under his neck for comfort. John nearly tips his head into the clinical brush of Siger's fingers against his hair. He catches himself just in time. Damned hormones.

Once John's ready, Siger rolls the exam light into position and then steps away to the sink to wash up. "Let me know if you need me to add or take away padding at some point. The last thing you want right now is a strained back."

"Cheers to that," John sighs, gazing a little hazily up at the ceiling. He can feel the lubricant steadily leaking from his body, the distant pulse of his prick, but something in him has relaxed immensely with the change in orientation. _Submissive reflex_ , he recalls. Part of the tension he's been experiencing was the result of trying to fight his body's natural instincts. Lying down with his legs propped open fools his animal brain into believing he's about to be mounted. _If only._

Siger seats himself on the rolling stool again and turns on the exam light before pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. He does not touch the drape yet. "You're certain you don't want a chaperone, John?"

"Hm? Oh. No, it's fine." A wry chuckle bubbles in John's throat. "Hell, a feel-up would be the most action I've seen in heat since before I deployed."

As soon as consent is given, the drape and gown are pushed up to his knees, enough to allow Siger access without leaving John completely exposed. John fancies he can almost see the gust of pheromones rising between his legs. He's intensely grateful for the fitted filtering mask Siger wears—he might be embarrassingly visibly aroused, but at least the mask won't let a single heat-charged particle through.

"You were in the military, then?" Siger asks, tugging the light into proper alignment before beginning the external examination. "Which branch?"

"Army. RAMC." John lets his eyes flutter to half-mast and tries not to react to the sensation of cool gloved fingers kneading his slick arse cheeks apart. "Thirteen years, give or take."

"Really?" Siger isn't making any effort to sound detached; his tone lifts with surprise. "That's a long time to stay under."

John knows he's talking about the compulsory long-term suppressants issued to every omega upon enlistment. He shrugs slightly. "No one back here to impress anyway, and it's not like we need a heat to have a good time, if you get me." John's voice briefly dies in his throat when Siger's fingers dip inside his body, shallow pressure, gently stretching. He can feel his cock jump in response. "N... not actually happy to see you, sorry," he jokes feebly.

"No one ever is," Siger returns rather kindly. "All right, John, everything looks good so far. I'm going to start with the endospec. This may seem like a silly question, but does Dr. Guthrie usually lubricate it for you?"

John whuffs out a breathless chuckle. The disposable cushion beneath him is soaked already, and he's willing to bet there's a puddle growing on the floor at Siger's feet. "No, he says it'd be a waste of supplies. Carry on, it's fine without."

"All right." Siger changes his gloves, then unpacks and checks over a disposable plastic speculum. "I know you know the drill, but I'll say it anyway: if anything hurts or gets too uncomfortable, speak up right away. There's no point at which I can't stop if you need me to." Satisfied with his inspection, he slots the speculum attachment over the flexible endoscopic wand and tests the video feed, the light delivery. It's a marvelous piece of work, the endoscopic speculum assembly; before its invention, these examinations were far riskier and less effective.

John shifts his shoulders and clasps his hands loosely on his stomach, willing his nerves down. Marvelous though it may be, the endospec is not high on the list of things he wants pushed up his arse, not even during oestrus (when everything from dildos to bloody hairbrush handles look appetizing to a cock-starved omega). "I'll let you know if something's off," he answers truthfully. "Er, but ignore me if I get a bit... twitchy? It's all a bit sensitive right now."

"I certainly won't ignore you, John." Siger's thumb and forefinger easily spread John's anus as he positions the wand with the other hand. "But there's no need to be embarrassed. I'd rather see a healthy and responsive patient any day. Relax as much as you can, I'll go slowly."

The speculum isn't uncomfortable, per se, but there's a certain clinical rigidity to it that prevents anyone from pretending it's just a firm dildo. It's long and very slightly curved to accommodate the vaginal passage's anterior slope. The endoscope is attached to the inside of one of the blades, with the "eye" and light fibers directed centrally to guide the practitioner's hand. Securing the endoscope to the blade creates a clear negative space through which probes and swabs can be inserted once the speculum is seated.

"Okay, we're about three inches in. Colonic sphincter looks good," Siger comments, his attention fixed on the little screen to one side. His fingers remain pressed to John's anus, gently stretching the muscle to allow the speculum easier passage. "Any problems with that in the past?"

John shakes his head before remembering that the doctor won't necessarily notice, with his eyes elsewhere. "No," he says aloud. "Seal's still tight, thank God." Privately, he thinks he'll go on permanent suppressants if he ever develops sphincter fatigue or otherwise can't maintain the block between his colon and rectum during heat. _Christ_ , but that would be a mess, not to mention an open invitation for infection.

"Good, good." Siger pauses and minutely adjusts his hold on the wand. "Okay, I'm avoiding the prostate, entering the vaginal canal... now."

And John can _feel_ it, the moment the instrument prods and slips into that newly-opened breach. He bites the inside of his lip as a needful sting slithers through his belly. He doesn't think he's imagining a surge in the warm pulse of fluid streaming down his exposed cleft, either. The wand has stopped, and Siger is saying his name. John clears his throat. "I'm okay," he manages. He cracks his eyes open and offers a tiny smile. "Just... sensitive."

Siger nods and turns his gaze back to the monitor. John thinks he might be smiling a little under the mask. "That's to be expected. As long as it doesn't hurt. Moving on now."

John curls his toes and catches his lip in his teeth again, but tries not to make another sound as the instrument slides deeper, parting him where he needs it most. It's been forty-seven days since his last heat ended, and God, he just wants to be _fucked_. He wants it hard and fast and deep enough to bruise. He wants a knot the size of a coconut plugging him up until he can taste it. The speculum is in the right place, but it has the wrong shape and the wrong give. His cock twitches sympathetically despite the lack of any focused stimulation.

"Almost there," Siger murmurs almost soothingly. "You're doing very well, John. Very well. And... we're there."

That very instant, John gives a strangled groan and thuds his head back on the table, his spine arching in an effort to keep his hips still. "Stop!" he gasps through the sharp ripples of pleasure. "Back off, back off, just a bit—"

Siger wordlessly withdraws the speculum a fraction of an inch, his hand firm on John's thigh to steady him. "Better?"

John unclenches his fingers with effort and nods, a sound building in the back of his throat that might be a hum or a moan. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he babbles shakily. "Gräfenberg spot. Mine's a hair-trigger. Should've warned you." He hasn't had to warn anyone since Dr. Guthrie tripped the same trigger the first time. His neck and cheeks burn with embarrassment and not a little arousal. "Sorry."

Siger is carefully spreading the speculum blades and locking them in place, one eye on the monitor to be sure of placement. "No, no apology necessary, John, the G-spot's different for everyone. Yours is highly irritable and about a half-inch inferior to the cervix. Now that I know, it won't interfere with the rest of the exam." He focuses fully on John, pale eyes serious. "I'm sorry to have frustrated you further, though. Do you need a minute?"

John rubs his face with trembling hands and inhales. The initial starburst of sensation has faded, leaving him more desperate than ever. His skin feels hypersensitive, and if his cock wasn't throbbing in protest, he might swear he'd come just now. Evolution certainly knew what it was doing with the G-spot, at least: even the most reluctant proto-omega would've had a hard time resisting a breeding once the alpha's cock found that nerve-cluster.

"All set," he says, when it's clear that he's as calm as he's going to be. He tries for a smile and partially succeeds. "Have I mentioned that I want to be a woman when I grow up?"

Siger gives another furred chuckle, one that shoots straight to John's libido. (Granted, watching linoleum peel would probably do it for him at this point.) "That would make this a bit simpler, wouldn't it?" Keeping one hand steady on the wand, Siger reaches for the tray beside him, plucking up the long cervical brush. It resembles a thin hammerhead toothbrush with a slightly longer tuft of bristles in the center. The design allows the head to retract into a sterile plastic tube once the samples are gathered, to prevent contamination during extraction. "Just a quick swipe, and this part's over with," Dr. Siger continues calmly. "Hold still for me and relax, John. I'll be very careful around that anterior wall."

John shuts his eyes and tries to concentrate on the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. They're about halfway through the exam now, and this is the most unpleasant part, in his opinion. No matter how gentle the tocologist is, having a poky little brush twirled round one's cervix is just not _on_.

"All done," Siger announces, withdrawing the retracted swab and dropping it into a sterile tube for transport to the lab. "I'll take the endospec out next—shouldn't be a moment, out's easier than in. Easy now."

It occurs to John somewhat abruptly that he should be objecting to all of this calm, soothing play-by-play. He _is_ a doctor, dammit, he doesn't need to be coddled like some hysterical layman. But Siger's been pleasant enough to talk to, and he's obviously making an effort to keep John as comfortable as possible. John's eyes wander from the ceiling down to the man between his legs. He wonders what Siger looks like under that cap and mask and lab coat. Obviously tall and on the lean side. Brown hair, if his brows are anything to go by. Very light eyes, maybe grey or pale blue.

The endospec slips free with a fresh spill of warm lubricant, and John asks, "What's your first name, Dr. Siger?"

If there's a tiny pause of surprise, Siger covers it well. "It's Sherrinford," he answers easily, disposing of the speculum and setting the wand aside for later sterilization.

"Sherrinford." John plucks at the front of his gown, trying to straighten the more obvious rumples where his fingers clutched. "Do you mind if I call you Sherrinford?"

"Not at all. Let's get you cleaned up a bit, shall we?" Siger busies himself with his task, setting a handful of paper towels on the floor (definitely a puddle by now, John thinks) and wiping John's skin with absorbent gauze. John thinks to tell him that's a lost cause, but the attention feels good, so he holds his tongue. Once or twice the gauze sweeps close to his balls, and he flushes when his prick gives an eager bob. A fever-spiked little voice in the back of his mind whispers _maybe he's a beta, ask him over for drinks and a four-day shag_. John squashes the notion with his most furious blush yet. Fucking hormones.

If Siger notices the extra color in his patient's face, he doesn't comment. A minute or so later, he drops the last of the gauze in the appropriate bin and discards his wet gloves, as well. The privacy drape is unfurled back down to John's ankles. "Just the ultrasound left, and then you're essentially home free." The skin around his eyes crinkles again, definitely reflecting a smile. "This would be the part the ladies envy, I think. I hear the bimanual exam can be quite uncomfortable."

John snorts quietly in agreement and watches Siger roll the ultrasound console closer. It's had plenty of time to boot up and run through its self-diagnostics. He catches sight of the lube jelly sitting to one side of the monitor. "Would you believe me if I told you Guthrie doesn't waste supplies on this, either?" he hears himself asking sweetly.

Siger blinks at him, then tips his head back and gives in to a rich, full-throated laugh. John grins at the sound of it, warmth blooming low in his belly. Siger's eyes are bright and amused in return. "Oh, John. Normally I wouldn't ask, but do you always lubricate so freely? It's like someone's uncapped a fire hydrant."

"That'd be me, the human hydrant," John giggles, feeling giddy all of a sudden. "I'm always pretty wet when I'm in the mood, but the heat makes it ten times worse." It's a perfectly appropriate conversation to be having with a tocologist, but somehow, John feels squirmy and illicit in all the best ways. "You'd think I'd be more popular." (All right, maybe _that_ wasn't so appropriate.)

Siger's still smiling behind his mask as he pulls on fresh gloves and fits a sterile cover over the transducer. He eases John's gown up and folds the drape down to expose his abdomen. "You know, I really would," he says honestly. "You're very funny. I can see why one of the nurses put a smiley sticker on your file."

"They did?" John stops himself before the automatic inquiries _(which nurse, how attractive, currently available?)_ can tumble out. "I guess that's good. Your nurse is on the list of people you don't want to piss off, right up there with your plastic surgeon, your dentist, and your waiter."

"All very true." Siger upends the lube bottle and squirts a line of jelly between John's navel and the fine smattering of hair trailing down beneath the drape. John flinches, and Siger gives him a sympathetic glance. "Little too cold? Sorry, I'll warm it if I have to re-apply."

"It's all right, Sherrinford, just sensitive right now." John grimaces at himself the moment the words are out of his mouth. "God, I'm saying that a lot today. I'll try to stop whining."

"If this is what you consider whining, I'm not surprised you got a smiley face." Siger rests his hand lightly on John's lower abdomen and settles the transducer into the jelly, smearing it slightly while he adjusts the machine settings. "Really, John, you've been a model patient, especially considering you're a doctor _and_ you're in heat. I can't imagine what it must be like for you."

John clasps his hands higher up on his chest to keep them out of the way. "It's not so bad," he says absently, watching Siger's three-quarter profile as he gazes at the monitor. Full ginger-ish brows, graceful neck line, a dark curl of hair behind one ear where it's escaped his cap. The clinic's mandatory pheromone-suppressant patch peeks over his collar. His hand is large and warm where it contacts John's belly. "I mean, I'm lying utterly, but I'll survive."

One of the tendons in Siger's neck twitches, and John thinks that might be a smile, too. "I can't imagine," he murmurs again. The transducer gently palpates John's abdomen, sliding easily in the warmed jelly. "I'm happy to report you’ve a perfectly serviceable uterus. No children, though?"

"No." John sighs lowly. "I'm not opposed, exactly, it just hasn't been in the cards. Need an alpha, for one thing."

"Are you waiting until you've found your mate, then, to bed an alpha?" Off John's questioning look, Siger clarifies, "Sorry if that's too personal. It's just that you're on contraceptives, and all of the sexual encounters you've indicated during past visits have been with betas. I wondered if you were waiting for Mr. or Mrs. 'Right' Alpha."

"Oh." John considers. "No, it's not too personal. I suppose you might have got part of it. —That, and I can't stand the egos."

Siger's brow twitches, but he doesn't take his eyes from the screen. "Egos?"

"Yeah, don't tell me you haven't noticed," John says dryly. "The way they strut around, flinging pheromones like holy water. 'I'm an alpha! I have a gigantic knot! Where's my trophy omega?' Not that there aren't some downright decent ones around, but when they're bad, they're bloody awful."

"Hmm." Siger's tone is noncommittal. "To be fair, some of them do have impressive knots."

"True enough," John acknowledges. He hesitates a moment before adding, "But I'll take a beta any day."

Siger meets his eyes only briefly. "Any day?" he echoes, with particular emphasis.

John wets his lips and fidgets with his gown. "All right. Especially today." He gives a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. If his tentative hints blow up in his face, he can at least fall back on insatiable biological urges. "Can you blame me?"

"No, I suppose not. At least, not about today. ...Ah, there. Your ovaries really are camera-shy, aren't they?" Siger manipulates the console controls, freezing images, annotating and measuring his findings. The heel of his hand shifts an inch lower, catching in the drape. "With regard to your condition, an alpha would serve you better, physically. A beta's knot typically isn't large enough to relieve the breeding impulse."

John resists the urge to writhe under Siger's touch. The pressure is directly over his cervix now, close enough to tease his sweet spot. "That's what they make sex aids for. Besides, I like betas," he says stubbornly. "You're a beta, aren't you?"

Siger's brows bob. "What makes you think that?"

"Process of elimination? You said you can't imagine what the heat's like, and no sane clinic would let an alpha perform a pelvic on an omega. It's just asking for a liability nightmare."

"That's a fact." Siger removes the transducer from John's abdomen and strips the cover from it, nudging the console away. "Right, all finished. The nurse will give you the hard copies of the scan before you leave." He drops the cover and his gloves in the bin. "I know I said we'd be done after the ultrasound, John, but given the overall exam, there is one more thing I'd like to do while you're here."

John blinks. "Oh. All right. Is something wrong?"

"Not exactly wrong, I don't believe." Siger tugs on another pair of gloves and returns to the foot of the table, moving the exam light aside and carefully shifting the drape back up to John's knees. "As I said, you've been the perfect patient, if more apologetic than necessary. But I did notice how uncomfortable you've been, even discounting the episode with your Gräfenberg spot."

"Well... yeah, I'm uncomfortable. I'm in heat." John feels the color creeping back up his neck as cool air brushes his bare thighs and exposed genitals all over again. His feet shift slightly in the stirrups. "Not much to be done about that, you know?"

"Mm." Siger flicks his gaze up to meet John's, all business. "Relax for me. I'm not going to use any instruments, I just want to feel you."

Something about the phrasing strikes John oddly, but he's given no time to dissect it before Siger gently parts his arse cheeks with a soft, wet sound. Gloved fingertips probe carefully at the loosened ring of his anus, then press inward, two digits easily sliding inside to the last knuckle. The very tips of the latex graze his prostate and vaginal aperture. John inhales quickly, pelvis twitching into the stimulation. "Oh—shit, you've got long fingers," he breathes, and then, immediately after: "Sorry. Surprised me."

"You _are_ quite sensitive, John," Siger remarks quietly. "Very responsive. Is it like this every time you have sex?"

John is stymied as to where Siger is going with such an inquiry, but then again, he finds it harder to concentrate with the doctor's fingers in such intimate, exquisite contact. He gulps for air. "Yes. No. Not like this," he manages. "Er. It's worse during heat. Everything is. Heightened responses." He knits his brows, confused. "Textbook oestrous behavior. You know."

"I do know," Siger confirms, which does nothing to alleviate John's bewilderment. His other hand comes to rest at the juncture of John's thigh and groin. "You've also been fully erect for an extended period of time. Is it painful?"

John bites down on his tongue to contain a pathetic groan. _Fuck._ If his cock were prehensile, it would be reaching over to rub itself silly against Siger's warm hand. "No more painful than it should be," he forces out thickly. "What's... what's this all about?"

Siger hums low in his throat. "I bear some responsibility for bringing you to this state, even if that wasn't my intention." The fingers inside John rub ever so delicately alongside his prostate, stretching up to tease his vaginal entrance again. "I'd rather not leave it go without at least trying to relieve you."

Every third word flies completely over John's head. His eyes are wide and rapidly glazing with pleasure. His thighs tremble delicately. "Relieve me?" he echoes stupidly.

Siger's eyes crinkle. He's smiling again. "Yes, John. Relief. I can give it to you, at least for the short-term." The hand at John's leg shifts those precious few inches, cupping warm latex to his straining prick. "Do you want me to?"

It's too much for John's heat-soaked brain to process, and he gives up without a shot fired. "Ohh, oh _God_ ," he moans under his breath, twisting his hands in his gown. A gloved thumb teases the soft seam of his sac, drawn up so desperately tight beneath his cock. He's babbling before he can help himself. "Please. I don't know. Feels so—I can't. Please don't. Don't stop."

"I won't, unless you ask me to," Siger promises him. "Just say the word, and we're done. Are you listening, John?"

John gives a jerky nod, though it's mostly in response to the interrogative lift at the end of the sentence. He digs his heels against the stirrups, trying to spread further, raw instinct driving him to present himself. Christ, how he aches. His mouth drops open on a pleading gasp. "More. Touch me. Please. _Please_ touch me?"

Siger obligingly reaches up to scoop leftover jelly from John's abdomen, then returns his slicked hand to John's groin, fondling the modest handful of needy flesh. "Does it feel good, John?" he rumbles intently, his voice a full register lower than before. He ghosts a fingertip against John's vaginal breach. "Is this what you need?"

"Yes. No!" John squirms in place, bearing down on the hand massaging inside him. "More. _More_. There."

"What do you need, John?" If Siger's breathing has quickened, if his eyes are dark, it's well beyond John's notice. "Tell me what you need in there. Say it."

John stares at him, unfocused, face flushed and damp. "Fucking hell—your _cock_ ," he snarls. It's less fury and more frustration. He scrabbles suddenly with the drape, feeling hemmed-in. "I need your cock. Please. I need it. I need you to fuck me. Fuck me—knot me till I choke. I want it. I _want_ it."

Siger pets him soothingly. "Shh, shh. All right, relax. I'm going to help you. I'm a doctor, remember?" He leaves off John's cock to strip the drape away, dropping it to the floor. John moans his approval and tips his pelvis up briefly, wantonly, the stirrups holding him wide open. His little prick stands flushed and wet in its nest of light brown hair. Siger spreads his fingers inside, just enough to encounter the frantic clench of resistance. "Oh, John," he murmurs, transfixed. "You're absolutely soaking down here." 

John tosses his head to the side and whines outright. "Please, please do it, give it to me, I want it, do it, fuck me, I want it, I _want it_ ," he chants under his breath. "Please, please, _please_ , do it, do it now, please—!"

He will never clearly recall what happens after. Heat frenzy is like a blackout that leaves the eyes pinned too far open; there are flashes of lucid memory, strings of words and vivid bursts of color, but the rest is swallowed in a grating roar of lust so sharp it's nearly agony. He's blinded, begging, mewling. He'll take anything and anyone. He blinks and the world narrows:

—Siger's cock splits him _deep_ , so deep it's a momentary panic because John is sure he's fucking him with the fucking endoscope again, but no, it's too thick, too fucking _good_ to be anything but firm, blood-gorged flesh, and John moans his bliss to the walls

—latex and slippery pressure at his cock, thumb worrying beneath the head, and he comes once, spurting barely a dozen strokes in, not enough, not enough

— _I can't smell you_ , John complains breathlessly, grabbing for Siger's shirtfront, the lapels of his lab coat, and goddammit the man is bent over him like a jockey, riding him hard, kicking up lather, and John can't _smell_ him past the collar-patch and the fucking neutralizing spray, and Siger grunts something like _it's against policy_ and grips John's thighs for dear life

—there's no stream of alpha rutting-babble above him, only a heavy bass line of harsh gasps, the wet slap of flesh in flesh all around, and John is pleading, endlessly pleading, _give it to me, give it to me_ , and the only reply is a low moan, _yes, John, yes_

—now shallowing, tormenting, pecking blunt kisses to his prostate, _fuck, fuck, don't stop_ , now the plunge, filling, rooting, a blinding hit to his triggery sweet spot, another, again, so close, he's shrilling his throat raw and he just needs

_**Sherl—!** _

_—!!_

When John finally scrapes his eyes open, Siger is binning a bundle of gloves, soggy tissues, and what looks to be a tied-off condom. The doctor's clothes are fastened but hopelessly marred, especially the trousers. No one with a functioning nose will mistake the wet streaks down his legs for water-stains.

John lies limp, wrecked past moving for the moment. He stares at Siger's flies and shakily wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He's drooled a bit. "Jesus Christ," he rasps. His eyes lift to Siger's sweat-damp face, still mostly concealed by the mask. "That's no beta."

Siger comes to his side and gently tugs the gown down, covering John's softened groin with something like clinical concern. "Not a beta," he agrees just as quietly. "I can't knot you if I can't smell you. It's only a temporary reprieve, but you'll get home a little easier."

It's true, of course. Even after what felt like a stunning threefold climax, John senses a lingering itch under the lethargy. His body is still slick, still pushing lubricant freely, lazily, waiting for a knot to grip onto. Siger doesn't give him a chance to reply, instead moving to the foot of the table once more. "I'm going to help you out of the stirrups and get you on your feet before I go. The nurse will be in to finish up the paperwork and give you your scans."

John's legs are as tottery as a newborn colt's, at first. Siger patiently steadies him until strength returns to the overtaxed muscles and tendons. His hands are warmer without the gloves separating their skin, but every touch is textbook professional. (If John's still shivering with the caress of those fingers against his arms, it can be chalked up to oestrous hypersensitivity. He'll be high-strung for days until it's all flushed out of his system.)

When Siger is satisfied that his patient isn't going to keel over, he steps away and collects John's chart from the worktop. "Your clothes and shoes are on the chair, and I put out another brief for you. Take your time, there's no rush." He clicks his pen and slides it back into his front pocket. He's smiling. "Be careful going home, all right?"

John leans against the edge of the table and nods wryly. "'Drink plenty of fluids, call the office if you experience any unusual symptoms,'" he recites. His smile feels warm on his face. "And stay away from those alphas and their massive egos."

Siger chuckles his velvety chuckle. "Just so, Doctor. Have a good afternoon, and good luck." The door clicks shut behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme [prompt](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/15638.html?thread=89554966#t89554966):
> 
> _Can i get some med-kink set in Omegaverse?_
> 
> _*Any pairing_  
>  *Bonus for dub-con  
> **Bonus for speculum-kink


End file.
